


most disputes die and no one shoots

by Splat_Dragon



Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: "Held At Gunpoint", #3, Arthur Whump, Blood and Gore, Fix-It, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt Arthur Morgan, I swear I'll write whumptober without Colm, If You Squint - Freeform, My way or the highway, Quotes from "American Distillation", Quotes from "Old Friends", Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, graphic depictions of gore, hurt Arthur, it's just like the first five, literally i just checked my spreadsheet, my nana didn't raise no liar, number 3, prompt 3, really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26784130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Whumptober 2020, #3: My Way or the Highway: "Held at Gunpoint"A gunshot rang out, impossibly loud, and Arthur was suddenly so heavy in his arms he took Dutch to his knees.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945801
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	most disputes die and no one shoots

###  _Most disputes die and no one shoots_  
~Ten Duel Commandments, Anthony Ramos, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Jon Rua, Leslie Odom, Jr

“Where’s the money Dutch?”

Dutch was frozen.

His mind had been scrambled as of late. Micah - Arthur - Hosea. Why couldn’t they get on? Arthur and Hosea had been against him, while Micah was always there.

And he couldn’t understand _why._ Arthur had been his son for well-gone twenty years and Hosea had been his best friend for more than that. Micah had been with them for only a few months, but had been more loyal than them.

  
  


But now he was seeing Arthur with a gun to his head, those eyes of his _terrified,_ and how could he have questioned him? This was his boy, this was his _son,_ what had he been _thinking?_

His face was flushed, eyes red and tear-stained, beat halfway to hell and back. 

“Let him _go,_ Colm.”

He remembered Conner. Remembered Arthur being fourteen and scared, barely any taller than Hosea’s elbow and just as skinny, pinned against Conner’s chest as he demanded everything that they’d earned off a take.

That two hundred dollars had _hurt,_ but they’d give up any amount of money if it would save Arthur’s life.

The Blackwater money, though… jesus, that was _thousands,_ if they managed to get it back they could afford to go to Tahiti, go to somewhere more realistic, Australia maybe, buy a ranch and livestock and get them _safe._

But… Arthur’s life was priceless. There was always more money, but only ever one Arthur. Arthur brought in more than that alone, had brought in most of that money himself. _Would_ bring in more than that if they left him alive.

And even if he hadn’t, even if he didn’t, even if he couldn’t. Even if he were as useless as Uncle. He was _Arthur._ He was his boy, he was his _son,_ and he was worth every damn lost cent.

Arthur shook his head ‘no’ even as Colm nudged the barrel of his gun harder into his skull, so hard he could make out his skin denting beneath it, Arthur flinching as he pressed against a forming bruise. “Where is it, Dutch? I’m _losing_ my _pa~ti~ence,”_ he cocked his gun, wasting a bullet, ejecting the one currently in the chamber for dramatic effect.

Dutch broke.

“There’s a cave, half a mile west from Quaker’s Cove. It’s in there, seventy three paces, opposite a cluster of barrel cactuses, you have to dig.”

The thought of losing that money _hurt._

Just the thought of losing Arthur sent crippling _agony_ racing through him.

Colm sneered that nasty grin of his, all dull teeth and quivering facial hair. “See Dutch? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

But Dutch wasn’t in quite so jovial a mood, couldn’t break Arthur’s gaze - the man was passed thirty but looked as terrified as he’d been when he was fourteen, expecting to be shot down over a feud that should’ve been put to rest long ago and Dutch damned himself for letting this get so out of hand, he should’ve listened to Hosea, to Arthur, should never have kept tweaking Colm’s nose as he had.

“You got what you wanted Colm. Now let him go.”

  
  


Colm grinned, pressed his gun into Arthur’s temple as hard as he could and the man flinched at the pain. Dutch snarled “Colm!” but he only laughed, dropped his hand to aim his gun at the ground and shoved Arthur forward.

  
  


The man staggered - his head swam, a concussion ringing loud in his ears. His legs buckled, threatened to give out beneath him, only Dutch lunging forward to support him keeping him from going to the ground.

  
  


A gunshot rang out, impossibly loud, and Arthur was suddenly so heavy in his arms he took Dutch to his knees.

He blinked, found everything tinted red.

Blinked again and it was still there.

Looked at Arthur and found his head oddly misshapen.

A single blue eye was staring back at him, dull white teeth gleaming through red… red _stuff._ Stuff Dutch ~~wouldn’t~~ couldn’t put a name to.

Slowly, he brought his hand up to his head, wiped his face and found it came away bloody, with white _things_ and grey _stuff._ Bile rose in his throat and he was violently sick to the sound of Colm’s barking laughter.

He was covered in skull fragments and pieces of brain.

Arthur’s eye stared back at him from the grass.

  
  


_“Are you sure about this Dutch? Folks been through a lot recently, we’re hardly back on our feet yet.”_

_“And the last thing we need is to get bushwacked by Colm O’Driscoll. Let’s_ go. _”_

_“I know you hate him, Dutch.”_

_“He’s here for us.”_

_“I doubt that.”_

_“No, you’re just doubtin’ me.”_

_“I would never doubt you, Dutch, you… you always said, revenge is a luxury we can’t afford.”_

  
  


_“Okay… you know I got your back!”_

  
  


_“I had fun with you today. You’re… I was gonna say you’re like a son to me. But you’re more than that._


End file.
